Traveling Can Be The Shits

My trip to Europe was going well up until I arrived at the coastal city of Biarritz, France. My stomach ached for most of the train ride and it wasn't until I was no where near a toilet that I had to relieve my colon of the black snake moan that was slivering around inside. The tightly squeezed aperture that was my butt hole stung several times before I found a nice parking lot to let the snake out for some air. After a long sleepless night filled with frequent parking lot visits my train had arrived to take us on a long journey to Barcelona, Spain.

We had to take a detour from Biarritz up to Paris and then back down to Toulouse before we could board one more train to Latour de Carol. The last thing I wanted to do was keep traveling after several painful train rides. It was my fault though, I ignorantly slurped laxatives and popped Imodium A.D. at the same time. I really had no choice so I trooped on with the group and carried a burning in my anus and desire for a nice hotel room with a toilet. And not the typical non-American version of a toilet that ranges from hole in the ground to metal tin. Iyearned for a proper toilet that would act as the perfect venue to battle my demons. Before my dreams could come true, I had to board a toilet-less bus to get to our final destination.

Usually, a toilet free bus is the way to travel, however, given the condition of my recent bowel movements, a toilet-less bus was a disastrous situation for me to be in. I had almost completely exhausted my sphincter over the last 48 hours and wasn't sure if I could prevent myself from a classic slip up. I boarded the bus with a slight hesitation, but didn't really have much of a choice. The desolate train station that borders Northern Spain had no lodging facilities near by and would be closing soon.

The bus zoomed out of the parking lot onto a narrow road carved into the side of a mountain. Usually I would enjoy the beautiful sights of the mountain range during the ride, but my aching stomach was too much of a distraction. I had to use my ninja focus to keep my cheeks clenched around every tight corner. I sat nervously in the back while sweat dripped down my forehead. The perspiration was not so much due to the erratic driving, but rather, because I did not want to shit my pants.

The bus made a stop in a city where I was too distracted to take note of the name. Federal officials boarded the bus. I had to present my passport. I hoped they would be a bit more efficient than most of the border patrol that I had come across on my journey, but like any government paid employee they were in no hurry.

Finally we were back on the road with a bus driver who could have been mistaken as Sandra Bullock fromSpeed jamming at 55 plus miles per hour down the sloped road. This guy had no regard for the comfort of the passengers. He hugged every curve in the road. With every stomp on the gas pedal came an abrupt slam on the brakes keeping the passengers bobbing back and forth. I wasn't concerned with living or dying as much as I was worried about my unpredictable bowel movements, but one passenger caught my eye. Noley Bear was clenching to the seat in front of him with his head down and his eyes closed. All I could think of was how much of a pussy he was. My fearful thoughts of Hershey squirts were briefly evaded with this observation and I was thankful for having such a mama's boy in the seat next to mine.

The bus ride came to an end at another train station and my underwear was surprisingly still dry. We had to take one more ride on an overground train to conclude our two day trek. I knew I had to hang on by a thread for just a little longer for my stinging red butt hole would be home free. I closed my eyes the whole way to the city and when we arrived, we hailed a cab and took it to the nearest hotel. I gladly paid a smidgen more than I normally would for a room so I could finally have use of a clean restroom and some much needed rest.

Fire works banged loudly out side and I sat on the porcelain pedestal that I was blessed to have use of. The Spaniards celebrated noisily in the streets of Barcelona for El Dia De San Juan, but I quietly imagined from the restroom that they were celebrating my relief.

One for the birds

Denver Nuggets forward Chris Anderson has rejuvenated his career through the use of a persona. Birdman. His energy and crowd pleasing antics have made him a fan favorite and a spectacle for the hometown fans and visiting opponents alike. While one Birdman has built a reputation by gathering attention on the hardwood, another has been creating a stir on the cobble stone courtyard of Notre Dame.
The Parisian Birdman is the resident eccentric who, like Jack Hannah, is one with the animals.
The Birdman feels every scurry and head bob of the pigeons who make the famous cathedral home. He can be found, year after year, spreading seeds, offering a restful shoulder and even executing proper burials for the winged rats.
When most consider pigeons a bother, the Birdman sees a friend in need. A dropped crumb is never followed by a shoo or kick, but rather an opportunity to add to his flock of minions.
Visitors congregate in the courtyard of Notre Dame to admire an architectural gem. Not everyone notices the subtle symbols that deck the cathedral. But everyone notices the tornado of wings on its path to the Birdman. Like the aftermath of a natural disaster, the Birdman is not a sight for sore eyes. His greasy hair and unshaven face are complimented by his equally dirty shoes and worn clothes. The pigeons pay no attention to the Birdman's aesthetic dysfunction. Instead they focus on the grocery bag of seed at his side.
Like Notre Dame, the Birdman's duties are not swayed by the hoards of visitors. No amount of flash photography and gaping onlookers deter him from carrying out his seemingly only passion in life. Caring for the pigeons.
As pet owners know, pets can bring joy and act as another member of the family. This means that the death of a pet can often be as disheartening as the passing of a family member. The Birdman does not have the luxury of a backyard to serve as his own pet cemetery, but he does have the Seine. With a quick blessing, deceased pigeons are underarmed into the flowing currents. But the Birdman does not dwell. He stays true to his duty and spreads more seeds.

Le Stray

During the Summer, Biarriz is sand, surf and sunny skies. A night on the sand under the stars would serve as a gateway to Barcelona. However, bathing suits and suntan lotion made way for umbrellas as the train screeched to a halt. Grey clouds drizzled onto the sleepy coastal town. The plan was to sleep on the beach, but given the weather, seeking an accomodation was the only way to stay dry. After a failed attempt at a campground, the miles spent walking and the ammounting weight of the dampening packs, made sleeping options cut and dry.
The train station would act as an overnight Il Postino.
Squeaking New Balances could not disturb the other train station loiterers as boxed wine and juggling circles kept their attention.
The last group of people moved from the waiting room to the platform. As P.M. turned to A.M., the last train pulled from the station, leaving five people behind.
Four foreign backpackers and a local stray. Naturally, the local felt the need to find companionship. The young teen bridged the stranger-friend gap with a sloish of his own. The station attendent informed the teen that the station was closing, relegating the final five to the puddled curb. With eight hours to kill, the Il Postino was on.
Activities included the garcon engaging the backpackers in one-on-one soccer matches, poaching the remnents of the boxed wine and using hand motions as the main form of communication.
Like any stray found, the initial reaction is to protect and keep as your own. However, time has a way of replacing emotional impulses with logic. Surely the teen was not going to Barcelona. Had he run away? Where was his home? And most importantly, why did he feel the need to keep the other four awake?
After several hours of drudging up high school French lessons only to realize no knowledge was retained, sleeping was the natural progression of the conversation.
Attempts to shoo him away failed as he kept coming back like a lost kitten starved for nourishment.
The morning light began to break. The station doors opened. Commuters and vacationers alike congregated on the platform. The train completed its anti-climactic stop and the doors opened. Four reached into their packs, revealing pre-purchased tickets. One opened his wallet, producing nothing but a library card and rawhide. Train tickets can be expensive, and no matter how priceless puppy dog eyes are, they cannot cover the tariff required to board.
The boxed wine wore off, the engine fired-up and the boarding whistle blew. The friendship between the French stray and the backpackers ended with a simple phrase and the whoosh of closing doors.
“Bon chance et bon voyage.”

The next cold war front: Hostels

Many travelers enjoy sunsets and sleep. However, those who prefer sun rises are equal in numbers. This creates a civil war at hostels where battle lines are often blurred. In one city you are the empire, but in the next village, you are the rebellion.

1. Eat food that creates a natural habitat for a Black Snake Moan. Loud flatulence in the middle of the night will not only entertain, but like a heavy application of cheap cologne, the aroma will linger long after you depart.

2. Plan your future ventures through whispers. Despite popular belief, your personal agenda is not as fascinating as it seems.

3. Jiggle your room keys for the length of a typical pop song, or hold the belief that they stopped opening doors as if they were time sensitive. To make a lasting impression, ring the entry buzzer like you are a game show contestant.

4. Make sure that your sleepwear is at the southernmost quarter of your pack. Ruffle any item wrapped in plastic and unzip every pocket. For good measure, make sure to engage and disengage the zippers multiple times.

5. Illuminate the room with your flashlight. The effect increases with higher ratios of flashlights to sleeping bunk mates. Studies have shown that three strategically placed beams can awake even the deepest sleeper in an eighteen bed dorm.

6. After any of the aforementioned tactics are executed, brush your teeth nude. This entails cradling your nether regions with your non-brushing hand while walking to the bathroom. Flashlight may or may not be needed.

7. Purchase the flimsiest plastic water bottle. As the need arises, clench the water bottle tightly to project liquid into your mouth. The crackling always provides a festive atmosphere that will be enjoyed and remembered by all. See photo.

8. Create a circle of trust between yourself and the hostel owner. As your stay progresses, referrals to the owner as your friend will empower you to treat other hostel patrons as if they were your guests.

9. Leave your Noley Bear behind to confuse and frustrate hostel staff and guests alike. He or she will pass the day strumming guitars, telling Mother Goose Stories or emailing their grannies.

10. Enter the free breakfast line on your way to bed. Most effective when stocking up on the complimentary cuisine for a midday snack.

A key of phrases and words

Phrases and words you need to know. Please note, this list is an ongoing process as blogs are posted, new words and phrases will appear in this list to help you better understand the story.


Classy Keys - A state of mind in which Mike loses the ability to reason. Symptoms include heavy whiskey consumption, followed by stumbling, ranting and general bridge burning.

Van Damme style – A versatile word used as a verb, noun or adjective. Generally anything Van Damme style is associated with all that is bad ass. This may or may not include kicking two guys simultaneously in the chin, avoiding electrocution by doing the splits on a counter top or rooting a palm tree with a few swift kicks.

Il Postino – The act of posting up all day. Activities include: juggling a soccer ball, people watching or passing time, stimulated in verse with a chance encounter. Sub note: also an epic love tale in which the post man delivers more than care packages.

Bird Shit – Not the fecal matter that collects on countless windshields, but rather a puke that is delivered with high velocity and low volume. Generally takes place in alleys, trash cans and whiskey shots with grudges against gravity.

A Walk to Remember – Long distance, alcohol induced walks taken on a whim. A Walk to Remember typically includes navigation, luck and the burning desire for a blanket and a pillow.

Mother Goose Stories – Stories told by your mother before bed, but popularized by lies so unbelievable and delivered without compromise, that their existence should remain within the pages of a Mother Goose story. It should be added that questioning the stories' truth is neither rewarding nor necessary.

Thirsty – A term saved for the description of a drought only quenched with hops and barley.

Noley Bear – A traveler's worst nightmare. Favorite Girl Scout cookie: tag-a-long.

K-Pax – Any person who sells sunglasses, umbrellas or pointless trinkets or anyone who responds to generous seat offerings with a drunken rant spoken in tongues.

Sloish (aka sloshen) – A response or greeting to any foreign person who's native speech is beyond recognition. When used with a smile and wave, sloish/sloshen can break any language barrier.

Costanza – The ability to sweet-talk/lie your way in or out of any social interaction.

The Walkin' Blues – A condition that occurs in any humid climate. Target areas include any body parts required in the act of walking. Specifically parts that would be frowned upon if exposed in a public forum.

P.O. - An aroma that arises in the wee hours of the night. Reserved for top-hostel patrons. Often seen with the Walkin' Blues.

Purple Haze – A violet explosion due to rapid consumption of red wine. A psychedelic cousin of the bird shit, also typical, but not reserved for alleys, trash cans and toilets.

Old Speckled Hen – Inspired by a delicious British brew in which a tennis shoe is splatted with the excrements from a forgotten night's activities.

Lost Souls – Found in abundance in any urban European area. High concentrations in clubs, bars, town centers and Spain.

Blake Snake Moan – A serpent, dark in pigment,loose in consistency, that strikes with little to no warning. Natural habitat is a stomach not yet adjusted to foreign cuisine.

Weekend at Bernie's – The Mediterranean sun's relentless barrage on an unsuspecting epidermis. Results include peeling and in-prompt u Aloe Vera applications.

Bevy – An afternoon beverage served as an interlude to the next destination. Also see tubie.

Tubie – A beverage consumed on any subway system en route to the next destination.

Prelude to a blog

The beginning of a journey always starts with a single notion. An idea for an adventure is always just an idea until it becomes a reality. A couple of countries in mind becomes a couple of continents, which eventually becomes a way of life. Any twenty-something adventurer/traveler would be lying if they said it didn't take extremely hard work and long nights of planning for an extensive traveling experience. The results are only explainable to an extent. Most of the whimsical events that take place on these travels are anecdotes for the universality of life experiences that shape the mind. These personal anecdotes will be shared through posts on this blog, not to shape minds, but rather to inspire and entertain. Check in frequently to share our stories. Grab a beverage, relax and drink up. Personal note: drinking alone is no fun, so like any friend with an eighteen pack, feel free to share with us.